Red
by in the black
Summary: Jin and Mugen meet under extremely different circumstances. (AU, language warning, and explicit, not-quite-fraternal goings-on.)


**A/N: I found this gathering cobwebs. Not quite sure if it merits continuation, but I hope it's the least bit entertaining.**

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The brothel is cleaner than most Jin has been to, cleaner than the ones that sport even the most exclusive of women. The furniture is tasteful, simple and honest, and he appreciates the humble adornments greatly. Most brothels prove far too ostentatious for his tastes, distractingly flamboyant to the point of being outright annoying, and he is glad that this one is more after his own heart rather than vainglorious displays of wealth.

The yakuza are intimidating and strict, yes, but the _kamon _on his chest parts a neat path through them conveniently and he is received into the welcoming hands of the brothel's mistress.

She is a shrewd woman—he can tell—but professional. He swallows the lump in his throat and requests the _exclusive _storeroom, his access reinforced by a generous flash of gold coin. The mistress smiles, not a hint of greed, and escorts him personally to the back with a single "this way, young master Takeda". They pass barred rooms full of truly beautiful women, some leering at him interestedly, though he assumes it's only because they recognize him as nobility. The mistress leads him to a wing guarded by even more yakuza and they stop in front of a large, ornate door, flanked by armed sentinels who politely accept the swords Jin wordlessly hands them.

"I must tell you, Master Takeda, this particular…inventory, if you will, is sparser than that of the females. These displays are a bit harder to come by after all."

"Of course."

She smiles at him again, motioning for the doors to be opened. "But I think you'll find out their rarity makes them all the more worthwhile."

The exclusive storeroom is an entirely different world altogether. _So this is the true brothel, _Jin finds himself thinking as he surveys the red lamps and gilded furnishings, the expensive-looking trinkets adorning them gleaming in the scarlet light. The fixtures are impressive and quite fitting for the displays themselves and Jin is more fascinated with those more than anything else. Men. Plenty of them. It is unusual enough of a scene that he can't help but feel like a child in a new place with too many sights to see at once.

He absently presses payment into the mistress' palms, not hearing her pleasant "enjoy yourself". He is followed by a guard as he surveys the men, exhibited in a way Jin could only describe as 'truly novel'. Instead of having them all in one room, as was standard for the fairer sex, the men are alone in their own barred chambers, their presentations ranging from partially to completely nude. He understands why the fee was so steep; most of the wares are young, nearly boys, and quite beautiful at that. The ones who are a bit older are no more aged than him and he notes the jealousy in their eyes as he passes them by. _I am free, an heir and a nobleman, and they are here against their will, _he thinks with a note of pity. He wonders if any of them are sons of royalty like him, wonders why they are silent yet obviously resentful of their circumstances, and wonders if anyone's ever tried to escape.

"Let me out of here, damn it!"

A wild howl shakes him from his thoughts.

"I'm not a goddam whore for goodness' sake!"

Jin raises an eyebrow as he follows the source of the noise, utterly surprised by what he finds. "I won't say it again, y'assholes! Let! Me! Out!" The man, if he is a man and not the wild dog he resembles, is nothing like anything Jin has ever seen before. He is young—perhaps a year his junior—with unruly dark hair and fierce gray eyes, fiercer than wildfire and harder than stone. By the looks of the bruises on his lean, bare body, he must have arrived here by force—a lot of it. Though he is fascinating enough by his own right, Jin is inexplicably drawn to the blue stripes on his wrists and ankles. Prison tattoos they were, and Jin wonders how a convict could have landed from one horrific prison to a worse one.

"Agh! Son of a bitch!" The man roars, kicking the bars of his room in vain. He notices Jin staring and immediately snarls, "What the fuck are _you _looking at?"

Jin's eyebrow arches again, obviously intrigued, then hears a scoffing noise behind him.

"Don't mind him, sir. He's a new addition ever since we found him breaking into our treasury. Don't know why the mistress keeps him; he's good for nothing."

Jin watches as two—then three, then four—yakuza approach and breach the man's chamber, wrestling him into binds, inciting even more expletives and thrashing from the prisoner.

"They're not all like that, are they?" Jin asks, genuinely curious.

"No, sir, just him. Ever since he got here at least. Always shouting, cussing, and trying to kill everyone. A rat is what he is and every day he throws a fit like that."

"Has he been…used yet?"

"Not by any customer of ours, sir. He's only been here a week or so and no one really wants to get too close to him. You can see why."

"So he's a virgin."

"As far as I know. Nowhere near being pure in speech though, that's for sure."

"I want him."

The guard makes an audible noise of disbelief. Jin only regards him coolly. There is a loud, violent string of profanities as, apparently, the yakuza succeed in their efforts of subjugation.

"Sir?!"

"I want him."

"Are…Are you sure?"

"What part of that did you not understand? Have him tied and prepared for me. I want _him_."

The guard gapes at him for a moment longer, stupefied, then collects himself, bowing with a 'yes, sir' and ordering the yakuza to have the man transferred. Jin catches the dog-man's eyes for a single second, seeing in them intense hatred and fury before he is carted away, suddenly silent despite his fate.

The man is bound and gagged, deposited into Jin's room with a worried offer of nearby assistance should his charge behave in too violent a manner, but Jin only waves the concerned proprietors off, the door shutting softly behind them. He had thought this queer man fascinating before, but he is even more interesting up close. Securely bound yet still struggling against his restraints, Jin thinks it safe enough to truly study him and sits close to the squirming ware.

He has been dressed in a revealing red _yukata_, an appropriate color, and the vermillion folds hang loosely off of a wiry frame, lean yet undoubtedly formidable. His arms and legs are toned and thin, trophies of a boy who grew up fighting, and his skin is smooth and sun-kissed, the color of weak brew. The man is indubitably handsome once you get past the steel eyes full of loathing, and Jin mourns that such sharp angles and classic features had to belong to a creature of such animosity.

He would make a beautiful page in a book somewhere, surely.

Jin reaches out to touch, no longer able to resist it, and the man begins to twist and make noises of protest. Jin hesitates then places his palm on his brow, stroking dark skin with his thumb.

"Stop struggling. You'll just hurt yourself," he coos, noting the sudden flash of apprehension on the other's face.

He continues to move his thumb, moving down to the unshaved jaw, and the gentleness of his touch apparently baffles him. It only seems to baffle him even more when, instead of flipping him over and ravishing him without an ounce of propriety as per expectation, Jin pulls him into a sitting position and surveys him with genuine interest.

"You're very captivating, you know, but I suppose you're already aware of that." Jin slips a thumb in the opening of the man's robe, baring one shoulder and noting the sudden tension it generated.

"Also know I don't intend on raping you within an inch of your life. Tensing up every time I do something won't do you any good." Jin ignores the display of inexplicable emotions swirling in those remarkable gray orbs and slides the rest of the _yukata_ down to pool at the convict's elbows. He marvels at the newly exposed flesh despite its bruises, reveling in the solid stomach and defined abdomen, the prominent collarbone that he finds extremely attractive. If he had known bought men were going to be this fascinating to study, he would have procured these services much earlier.

The man makes a series of garbled, muffled noises as if trying to speak, and Jin weighs the consequences of granting such freedom before deciding to allow him a declaration or two. Jin pulls the twisted cloth from his mouth, expecting an explosion of profanity, but is met only with a hushed "Why are you doing this?"

He blinks for a second, bemused, then replies, "Doing what?"

"_This_," the convict stresses, "why are you being all nice and shit? Why ain't you fuckin' me already?"

"I thought that's what you wanted to _avoid_."

"Bullshit, we both know why you came here. You came here for a fuck. Why aren't you getting it over with already?"

"I thought I told you, I don't intend on using brute force and earning myself an assassination attempt in the future."

His captive only peers at him through narrowed eyes some more, still obviously suspicious, and says very slowly, "_Bullshit_." Jin knows there's no talking to this man, this man steeped in paranoia from days of being in a place where the threat is always constant and always the same. He sighs tiredly.

"Believe me or don't believe me, I don't really care. But I paid for this and I intend to make the most of it..._my _way."

True to his word, Jin lifts a hand and runs his fingers over the broad chest, delighting in the smooth skin that is far softer than it appears. The man retracts a little, scowling, but otherwise remains silent. Jin waits for a second then resumes his touch, drawing his hand from a hard pectoral to the lovely ridge of his collarbone. The hunger that has been dormant in his belly for months begins to reawaken at so innocent a contact, all the while keeping his pressure very light, barely even there. Too heavy and his resolve will break into a million pieces so instead, he loses himself in the sensation of taut flesh under his fingertips until _he_ speaks again.

"So, what, you're _not _gonna fuck me?"

Way to destroy a moment. Jin ignores the comment, moving back down to trace narrow hips, narrower even than what he is used to. He withdraws his hand completely when he realizes he's getting far too close to a certain area. _Not yet_, he thinks to himself. _Not today._

The man squirms to get his attention and Jin looks up at him with a hint of impatience.

"What?"

"I said, you're _not _gonna fuck me?"

"Do you really want me to?"

"No! Hell no! Just that…this is weird, okay? You gotta admit this is weird. No one drops a shitload of bank to come down here and just…do _this _instead of what everyone else comes here for. It's just weird, alright? You gotta think so, too."

Jin shakes his head minutely, returns his gaze on the perfect waistline. "I _don't_ think so. It's my money and I ought to do with it what I please."

"Then can I ask you a question?"

Jin looks down at muscular thighs, not fully hidden underneath the scarlet hem. He wants to bare this part of the man already, to let go of patience and self-control in a place where neither exist but he wants to better himself, to abstain for the sake of a more glorious release. "What is it?"

"What the fuck _are _you here for?"

Jin turns back to him, feeling absolutely seared by the searching look on that handsome face, and blinks. "You're getting me wrong, sir. I'm here for the exact reason why you think I'm here, but not for the same method. Like I said, I won't be tearing my way inside any time soon, but I _will _take my due. All in good time."

The look of complete disbelief and shattered hope that he receives is downright amusing, but Jin finds he doesn't like a fearful companion. He needs complete and total cooperation, nothing but willingness, for him to figure out which side of the track he likes better. He lifts a hand, places it on the junction of shoulder and neck, and the convict visibly freezes.

"But since this _will _be a repeat encounter—" there was a flash of anxiousness and repulsion that Jin, again, found a bit funny,"—I'm going to need a name. You know, just so I know who I'll be asking for."

There is a moment of held breath when Jin expects him either not to answer or draw more profanities from a seemingly endless well, but instead, the man only scowls and says, "Mugen."

Mugen. By definition, it means no illusions. No limit.

"Mugen?"

"Yeah, Mugen."

Jin likes it, likes how the two syllables fight against each other inside his mouth yet slip easily off his tongue anyway—indignant yet clearly obedient, just how he reckons their name bearer will be.

"Mugen. How fitting," Jin breathes, then moves to cradle the anterior of Mugen's skull to bring their faces together for the first kiss of that evening. To his extreme—stress _extreme_—surprise, Mugen does not thrash; Mugen does not protest or scream or hurl death threats his way. Instead, he finds warm, somewhat dry lips that are pliant to his wishes, parting easily when his tongue beckons for access, and Jin delights in the taste of _sake _and little else. He quickly decides that the man is duly proficient at lip lock, if the smooth glide of tongue and properly placed suction were any indicators. He spends liberal time indulging in this revelation, too blissfully long to bother with arbitrary timekeeping, and the intimacy of the moment fills his senses to the brim. Once past the initial barrier of reluctance Mugen truly has much to offer, and in his greed Jin takes it all until they separate with gasping breaths and raised body temperatures.

"Fuck," Mugen says simply, cheekbones marred with a hint of a blush as Jin surveys him, wondering how much more he is willing or able to give in this precious stage of their extended foreplay. Apparently, making out with a stranger isn't too high a toll.

"Yes," Jin replies, then moves in again for a second kiss, this time not fully separating but letting his mouth transfer to the delectable expanse of neck that Mugen breathlessly offers him. He tastes even better than he looks, a faint, gritty flavor that isn't too bitter or too sweet, and Jin marvels at the small grunts Mugen makes when he swirls his tongue or sucks on flesh just so. Jin learns his increasingly subordinate charge quickly enough, learning that the enticing collarbone is just as much an erogenous zone as it is a visual pleasure.

Jin learns that Mugen likes teeth on his breastbone, likes having his Adam's apple nursed, and likes—shockingly enough—having a pair of lips on his nipples, hot spots that Jin invests generous time in. By the time his tongue is flooded with Mugen's intoxicating taste the tattooed vagrant is kiss-drunk, flushed all over and panting, clearly aroused all the way down to the stirring erection in his lap. Jin wants to take him then—fairly sure the man wouldn't quite protest either—but knows he has already accomplished what he intended.

Call him manipulative, but he wants Mugen to be begging him to come back again and again and again.

"You're…" Mugen begins, considerably more enthusiastic than he was earlier. "I don't know. You're really…good."

"Oh, I know," Jin agrees shamelessly. "But do give yourself credit as well. I'm not nearly as good as you are wonderful to work on."

"You, uh…you gonna close the deal or what?"

Jin's glance falls briefly to the eager organ in Mugen's lap, weighing his options, then smiles at the other man. "Restless, are we?"

"Well, shit, you turned me on, what the fuck am I supposed to say?"

"And you were _so _very against this in the beginning."

"I'm only tied up and here against my will, so yeah, I was _very _fucking against this! But…shit, I don't—if you got other things in mind, I ain't gonna say no—"

"You don't want to stay hard, do you..."

"No, I'd prefer _not_ to go back rock hard, actually."

"Hmm," Jin says and reaches underneath the _yukata's _hem, immediately finding the fiercely hot manhood. At the slightest touch Mugen sighs and twitches with pleasure, groaning earnestly when Jin runs his nail gently up the underside. As an experiment, he wraps his fingers around the length he has yet to see, loving the weight in his palm, and rubs the head with his thumb, earning himself a delighted 'ah'.

"I suppose you like this too, don't you," Jin asks without expectation of a coherent answer as he works the warm organ with relish, using every motion that he likes used on himself. It doesn't take much effort to melt Mugen this way either, his pants edging into abridged moans as Jin kneads and twists with much expertise.

"Fuck…who wouldn't? The…the way you're…fuckin' working me like that…" Mugen gasps, now leaning forward with his forehead on Jin's shoulder. He lets out a small squeak when Jin squeezes the base of his cock.

"Then it seems you're not entirely against being in this business, so as long as you receive yours, am I right?"

Mugen can only offer up a heartfelt moan in response, barely even coherent at that point, and Jin prods him no further as he coaxes him off that sweet plateau of male ecstasy, terminating in a series of choked whimpers and gasps that translate into an overflow of warmth into Jin's palm. He finds the act extremely pleasing despite receiving no physical satisfaction of his own, noting Mugen's sluggish stature with delight as he wiped his hand on the red robe.

"Enjoy yourself?" Jin asks chastely, and the rogue only slides open one eye that had involuntarily shut during his orgasm.

"Fuck yeah, man. You're crazy and weird but…damn."

"Then I suppose a repeat offense isn't entirely out of the question."

"I dunno what that means."

"It means, if I come back around here, you won't be kicking and screaming again, will you?"

Mugen seems to digest the simplification, even through the apparently thick veil of lethargy that accompanied any worthwhile period of sex, and frowns contemplatively.

"No…I don't…well, if it's you, I don't think so…"

"Very good," Jin stands, adjusting his clothes just as the door to the room is knocked on. Before he could even respond to the quiet invitation of 'extension', Mugen speaks up.

"Wait, what's _your _name?"

Jin regards him for a moment, seeing the genuine interest that promised so much more than these almost-anonymous meetings that he intended to partake in, and smiles furtively. "Jin," he offers, and Mugen repeats the single, novel syllable, his name the last thing he hears before he exits the room altogether.

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**A/N: If you're wondering why Jin talks so much, it's because he grew up very differently than how he did canonically.**


End file.
